


Chances

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Crossover, Drama, Established Relationship, Futurefic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-10
Updated: 2003-03-10
Packaged: 2017-11-01 09:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/354702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Games"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chances

## Chances

by EscapeToCity

[]()

* * *

He Was Marked For Murder: Chances 

Author: EscapeToCity 

Rating: R 

Warning: _Slash_ inferred. Character death referenced. 

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me; they are property of D.C. Comics, Warner Bros., and Millar/Gough. None of the other copywritten networks, magazines, stores, brands, places or people belong to me either. 

*AU/Futurefic/Crossover (slightly...)* 

OK...I realize how long this one was in coming. I apologize, seriously...I intend to write much more now that I have survived a rather (emotionally) disastrous winter. 

Final chapter of this series. 

-J.B.  
@ Houston  
March 2003 

Comments? E-mail me anytime: EscapeToCity@aol.com 

* * *

**CHANCES**

**SMALLVILLE**

"What time is it, Jon?" 

"Seven." 

Martha Kent walked nervously towards the curtain framed kitchen window. Her son wasn't home. Gone, again. Where? 

"You think we should call--" 

"No." 

Her husband was right. The authorities wouldn't be any help with this. Clark still wasn't over this...this...awful thing. Lex's death. 

"We just have to give him more time." 

Time was something that dragged and bled and strayed without warning. Time was unforgiving and cold and it didn't seem to solve anything in the truest sense... 

All time seemed to do was form blisters on the heart, hardening the soul, or worse...never allowing wounds to heal. 

"Jon...do you think he's in the city?" 

"I hope not. I hope he realizes there's nothing he can do. Even with all his might." 

Nothing. 

The fields looked bitten by the weather...the stalks of corn were blowing around in the north breeze and Martha felt like everything was transient...everything could be blown over. Jonathan sensed her fears...he came up behind her, pulling her into a warm hug... 

"It's going to be alright, honey. It will." 

She wished she could believe him. She almost did. 

(believing is all we have left) 

"Jon!" 

"What's wrong, Martha?" 

"It's gone...look, on the bureau...it's gone...oh, Jon..." 

* * *

**METROPOLIS**

Maggie Sawyer sipped her coffee silently in the squad car. Dan Turpin looked nervously to his watch. His hand was shaking. 

"You're sure?" 

She looked her partner in the eyes... 

"Yes. Everything adds up to Kent. Prior relationship of some sort. Ransacked the apartment. Strange behavior. If he wasn't the killer he still knows a hell of a lot about Lex Luthor and what might have happened to him." 

"This place...it just, well..." 

"Doesn't look like a criminal's house? How many times have we gone out to some picture perfect little apartment in Metropolis, Dan? How many times? Picture perfect, with flowers in a box and a calico kitty sitting out front. Granny waving us in. Pie in the oven. How many times?" 

"Hundreds." 

(don't trust anyone, Clark...all people do is hurt you) 

"And just when we get inside the door, Granny comes at us with a machete or a semi. The pie is laced with apples and schrapnel. The cat's collar molded from plastique. Think about it, Dan. Nothing is ever what it seems." 

"Nothing...no...you're right." 

They sat in the car watching the Kent house. Yes, it was perfectly pastoral and homely, with flowers out front and a windmill whirring above it. Yes, there was a tractor and a barn. Yes, it looked like the home of good people. 

But looks were always deceiving. You couldn't be tricked. You couldn't take the chance. 

* * *

Selina pulled on her cigarette, purring. For a moment she could feel Bruce's arms around her, hear his laugh, the warm wind of the Atlantic on her neck. She was almost dreaming when-- 

"Mrs. Wayne?" 

City sounds assaulted her. This was not Mustique, Bruce was still away on business and her fingernail broke as she scratched angrily at the leather. Pat. Pat. What are you up to? 

(never trust anyone...human nature is to destroy) 

She didn't want to be here. Gotham was home, not here. I could sell that ruby anywhere...hell, I don't really want to sell it anyway...it looks fabulous on me... 

Metropolis...  
Too shiny, too fake. Too many rainbows laced with false hopes. Too many memories of a good friend. His name everywhere. Everywhere. His face everywhere. Effigy for Metropolis' fallen god. 

"Mrs. Wayne?" 

She hated being called that by anyone but the one who mattered. 

"Yes?" 

"Are you certain you don't want me to call Mrs. Luthor and tell her you're dropping in?" 

Selina grimaced....it was good to have workers who were polite but this was too much... 

"It's a surprise, Alfred. A surprise." The forced smile made her teeth glisten. Glancing at her through the two-way, the driver looked scared. Good. 

Good, she thought. I'm scared too. 

* * *

He had promised them he wouldn't return to the city, at least not without them. He had promised he would stick to Smallville and Midvale, to the safe places, the places where there were no glowing billboards or shadowy memories. He had promised. 

He had intended to keep said promise. He'd tried to lose himself in farm work and the cloudy future and old friends who didn't understand and the complete lack of new ones. He'd tried to read as many books as possible, but cried because he remembered a certain person who loved to read more than life itself. He told himself there was nothing else left to do but move on, which was true, but move on to what? 

The pain simply wouldn't cut out. It was malignant and heaving and dripping with blood and he gnawed at it eagerly, wanting to hurt. Wanting to... 

He had gone into the living room that morning, hoping they were still blissfully asleep. There were still lines under his eyes. He had lied and told them that he was sleeping. He hadn't slept in weeks. His mother had taken to watching him, trying to ensure he rested; sadly, she didn't realize he could fake it so well. 

(faking it well is how most people spend their lives) 

She didn't deserve that but he didn't want to sleep. Everyday he was filled with images of those eyes, that face, that apartment in the sky and all the lost horizons...he walked into the living room, the midnight gloom shining through the windows, the moon resembling a green, dead place Clark didn't want to remember. 

He wandered if there was a God for Lex and Jor-El and Lara. Maybe they were together. He hoped so. Jor-El and Lara could adopt Lex, hug him. He could be the son they lost. They would like him. He was a science freak, just like them. Silly fantasy, he thought....his birth parents were torn apart, literally, by the force of a star and his Lex was gunned down on a cold floor, mouth hanging open. 

Everyone he loved was killed. He hadn't told his mother or father, but he'd had dreams of them being shot, Bonnie  & Clyde style, dusty blood trails dancing in the searing Kansas sun. 

Shuddering, he sat down on the sofa. He looked across the room. Pictures of his family. Pictures of better times. Was there a chance he could ever feel like that again? That certain picture caught his eye, as it always did. Lex in chinos and a cowboy hat, laughing at him...where? why?....were they fishing?...he couldn't remember....was it summer, was it fall...was it then? Why had it gone away? His head burned, a rare headache...for a moment he feared he might blast the wall with a shot of heat vision...he closed his eyes tightly and felt a huge tear drop from his right eye. 

(never lose control) 

The picture was still there as he wearily opened his eyes. That smile, those eyes. Fishing, that was it....fishing. Down at the spring, in that good year before the drought knocked Faithful Spring into memory...In the good year when chances led to hopes and dreams come true and Clark was young and strong and Lex was smart and beautiful. 

For the moment, Clark could almost will himself back to that day, that place, that chance. But moments are by definition, fleeting.... 

(everything is fleeting save hope itself) 

He snatched the picture and rushed quickly, through the open window, into the misty sky. In the distance, someone waited.... 

* * *

9AM 

* * *

"I don't want to be disturbed for the rest of the morning." 

"Of course, Mrs. Luthor. Of course." 

The flowers, irises. Flown in. The table, marble. Adorned with eggs and bacon and croissant and fine jam and the best of fruits. 

Our boy must eat. 

The city outside buzzed and brooded as always, it was insignificant now. This had been Lex's city, not her's. 

They are oblivious anyway. He was never the saint they believed him to be. 

The phone rings and it's jarring and she swears at it. Who the fuck is calling here? 

The machine picks up..."Patricia, it's Doctor--" 

Pat pulled the plug out of the wall. 

I've had a breakthrough, Doctor.  
I don't need you anymore.  
I don't need anyone. 

(Thank you Lionel...the sins of the father...) 

* * *

"Mr. & Mrs. Kent?" 

"Yes, I'm Jonathan Kent. How can I help you?" 

"We're here about Clark." 

"What about Clark? What about my son?" 

"We need to talk to him." 

"Talk to him about what?" 

"About the murder of Alexander Luthor." 

* * *

He flew, gliding and weaving and turning and slowing at times to appreciate the early morning dew on the fields, the opening flowers, the wink of a distant creek or the gleam of chrome on the expressway. Ahead was the city...the slender towers of steel rising up from Hob's Bay, the roads jammed with coffee-bearing workers and requisite day care deliveries....the brilliant golden gilded globe of the Daily Planet, the GBS Tower with its usual electronic display: "Watch GBS, the station of the nation!"...First of Metropolis Bank, a post modern pink granite affair, with gables and turrets and fountains falling from seventy floors up. Shreck & Co. department store..."a city under one roof"... and Centennial Park--acres and acres of trees and if Clark thought hard enough he could remember kissing under a huge elm (or was it ash)...there, the giant statue of Lex, still under construction, cast in platinum plates, the birds dancing about him as if in worship....the bay, the cars, the towers....all surrounding the LexCorp Tower, that marble and blue glass monolith providing a heart, a core, a center, a chance....a chance...that maybe he could get some closure now. Maybe. 

* * *

"Get off my porch." 

"Sir, we're from the Metropolis Special Crimes Unit. We have a warrant to search these premises for evidence in the case." 

"Jon, they're serious. Please." 

"Martha, he's our son. And he, he...." 

"Jon, don't--" 

(we must all protect Clark at all costs, always...) 

"What, Mr. Kent?" 

"Damnit, he loved him, you bastards. He loved him." 

* * *

Just be good to me. That's all I asked. All I ever asked. I didn't ask you for the brass ring or this damned city or your fucking devotion. Just be honest. Honest, Lex. Do you think it was easy....well, it wasn't too hard to be honest. But not too easy. To do what I did to you. What you made me do to you. After he did what he did and you were there and did nothing. 

(revenge is meaningless, Clark, never forget that...) 

I wanted you. So bad. Thought you were him, the prince, the knight. Should have fucked Bruce. He was better looking anyway. Should have chased him. Let that cat have him. Let her be safe. I'll never be safe. 

"Hello? Is someone there?" 

I'm not ready I'm not ready I'm not ready...not...no. Now. Now. Now. 

"Yes. I'm here." 

* * *

This elevator is so slow. I could have scaled the side of the building faster than this. It was faster when Lex was around. Wish Bruce was here. Damn. What am I doing? I'm good at this kinda stuff but I'm not the Detective. Fuck. Maybe I should leave. Maybe. It's just something about her is really off. Something. I promised Bruce I would snoop around, try to figure out what's going on. Try, ha! Again, I am no Detective. Pat is and has always been an enigma. Wonder if she's related to Edward...

* * *

Stop. Don't. Leave. Come back. 

"It's for the best, Lara..." 

* * *

"Hello, Clark Kent." 

"Mrs. Luthor." 

"Patricia, please....my, you are amazing....how you got into my penthouse and all...well...you are quite the special young man...." 

"I just came to see it one last time." 

"My apartment? Why?" 

"I just wanted to see where he lived one last time." 

"That's rich, Clark. Smallville wit, I suppose. Ha, ha." 

"I've seen what I needed to. Now I will leave you alone." 

"I'm always alone, Clark. We all are." 

"You probably miss him a lot." 

"Not half as much as you do, loverboy." 

"What is that--" 

The glow filled the room and she smiled and hoped what she was hearing was screaming and it was and he was slumped on the floor in a second and she didn't hear the distant hum of the penthouse elevator approaching its destination... 

"P-P-Please.....don't hurt....me...." 

"You hurt me, Clark. You had my husband's heart. Before I even had a chance. He wanted you but settled for me. Do you know how that feels?" 

A strong kick to his head had him feeling just a little bit of everything....he vomited onto the floor....it reeked of hate and stained the persian rug with green, glowing chunks... 

"I....I....didn't...know....that he....that....Lex....loved me...." 

"Liar. Fucking hick liar. The letters, you bastard. The longing sighs. I thought you trailer trash types were raised to tell the truth! Of course, you're not exactly human, are you...? Ha, ha, ha." 

His eyes widened in fear. Tears seeped out. She knew. Everything. How? Why? 

"Clark...oh, dear...you don't look hungry now...I wanted this to last awhile but I have a date for an auction this evening and must attend to my hair....I really would love to stay and chat but you look thirsty and I have a schedule to maintain..." 

(I'm cured, Doctor) 

He trembled...."...thirs...thirsty....?" 

"Why yes, dear Clark, thirsty....here....here...." 

She produced a vial of liquid kryptonite, milled at Cadmus especially for this purpose.... 

"N-N-No...no....no!!!" 

"Drink it and be with Lex. You're going to die anyway." 

Clark shook his head and tried frantically to keep his lips kept firmly shut but he was weak and none of his muscles, much less his jaws, were working. He panted, gasping for any air he could find and in that moment she poured the contents of the vial into his aching mouth..... 

"You know, Clark, there's the chance you might not see Lex anywhere. I'm not sure there's a hell for freak aliens who are allergic to green meteor rocks. Oh, well..." 

He was dead. 

She began to laugh and dance about the room when the crack of a whip garnered her attention... 

She found herself ensnarled in the tight leather whip but smiled maniacally... 

A teary voice screamed into her ear-- 

"What have you done?!?" 

"Selina! Get out!" 

"What have you done, Pat? You killed him!" 

"I gave him life, Selina. I gave him back to Lex, my dear. I gave him back to Lex." 

The tears she cried this time were real.... 

* * *

This. 

(Clark...meet my friend, Bruce...) 

Time. 

(Clark...my God...you're green...) 

Real. 

"I've decided not to return to Metropolis." 

(take it) 

"Clark, I'd like you to meet my wife. Lois Lane Luthor, meet Clark Kent." 

Chance. 

"I don't want to know my origins, Mom. If they sent me away, they obviously didn't want me." 

(make it) 

"What would I be without your love?" 

Chance: the abstract nature or quality shared by unexpected, random, or unpredictable events. 

A raffle. 

A risk. 

A lottery ticket. 

A hazard. 

An opportunity. 

* * *

2003

"Come closer, Clark...." 

"Lex, stop goofing around...." 

"No, really, I want to look at you." 

"I look like a fool." 

2012 

"You're so beautiful." 

"Don't talk like that, I'm a guy..." 

"I love you." 

"I'm hungry." 

"Forever, Lex." 

2003 

"Tonight...Lex....I want to umm...." 

"I want that too, Clark. I know you're scared." 

"Don't go, Lex." 

"Don't ever go." 

"I have to take the chance." 

"I'm ready to take the chance." 

"Wake up, Clark." 

"Ready to take the chance." 

"Wake up." 

* * *

2003 

"Wake up, Clark....I think I might be ready to take that chance...." 

"No hesitations." 

"You sure?" 

"Oh yeah." 

* * *

There's the chance everything could happen differently. Or the same. Or in a way they never dreamed possible. In my mind, I like to picture them sitting on a bench in Centennial Park, the leaves falling on them and the sky purple orange blue. 

Maybe Lex was never marked for murder, perhaps he was. Maybe Clark's fears became a reality and he succumbed. Maybe the world is everchanging and one chance decision changes us and our realities. Facing our fear, taking what we truly want (and need) can let us avoid the horrors of chance. 

"I need you, Lex...and I will never stop loving you." 

That's the way I dream it. Perhaps my dream (or nightmare) is theirs. 

...wake up. 

**END**  
of series 


End file.
